MixTape
by greysnyper
Summary: Do you sleep or sing when words lose their meaning?


The first few sounds that draw Conner out of his unconsciousness include the rumble of tires as well as far off thunder. He cracks his eyes open to see soft, grey light filtering into the window of the barn and then smothers his face into his bedding.

It's early, but not so early that the Kents haven't already taken the only cow to town. The uncanny calm from the house and yard says this much.

He's slept in, and this surprises him because he had been quite unable to drift into sleep the night before. Tim is visiting this weekend and the whole evening had been full of intense thought-processes which invaded Conner's time for dreams.

Once more, Conner sinks into the edge of his mind as outside sounds come easily to him. There are the sparrows in the other end of the barn, the buzz of insects, some ducks in Patterson's slough, a storm fading in it's fury to the east...Conner can hear tractors starting up and the quiet murmur from Smallville's streets. It's a typical Sunday morning, and someone is driving along the grid road by the Lendman's farm or...no, the McClintock's ranch.

It would _have_ to be by McClintock's because the birds there are bitter bastards and Conner can hear them shrieking as the vehicle drives past. It's running smoothly, unlike half of the wrecks puttering around the county.

Con wonders vaguely what the odds are that it's Tim coming, and then he returns to the thought a moment later. It seems to cling to his focus demanding an answer.

His head thick with sleep and starting to ache from the work, Conner rolls over and tries to scope out the details of the sound. Under the angry roar of tires on gravel there's a radio playing. Something Conner's never listened to, but it sounds mainstream enough. A bottle of something is sloshing with each rattle of the car and he tries to stretch out his hearing far enough to catch a familiar heart-rate or breathing pattern but--

Conner groans, sliding his hand across his scalp with a scowl. He can't do it, though he's doubtful that he could recognize Tim's unique sounds if he were standing next to the Boy Wonder in a crowd.

The "everyone has a distinct series of noises" seems like something Clark had made up. And yet, if Batman or Tim started using that power, Conner probably couldn't be surprised.

'_It's you Conner, I can_ hear_ it...'_

"Too early," Conner sighs, noting that the McClintock ranch is basically a twenty-some minute drive from the farm so he should get points for hearing _that_ well, despite being unable to guess whether or not Tim is on his way yet or n--"no way!"

He's still listening to the car, though with half the heart now. It's enough to catch the way the song inside changes, and it's obviously enough to hear the driver start singing along.

Holy Chuck Norris, it _is_ Tim!

Conner rolls his head back and laughs, unable to help himself. Tim is less than twenty minutes away and singing along with, well, it has to be a mix-tape. Conner figures that Tim's taste in music doesn't often relate to radio and...

It's certainly time to put on pants.

He falls out of bed and pulls absentminded-ly for the jeans he had kicked aside the night prior, and all along his attention keeps a part of itself rooted on the sounds inside the approaching vehicle.

Tim's a little off key, but he also sings as if he's in a very good mood. This sets Conner's spirits a bit higher as he blearily shuffles around in his space to make himself presentable. The phone and email silence from Tim in the past few days had overshadowed Conner's expectations of the arranged visit. Suddenly any fears that Tim would be arriving with something troubling him are dispelled, meaning Conner could have probably allowed himself to sleep a lot earlier the night before.

Oh, he knows this song _has_ to be Enya, or someone very similar. Or maybe not, since the lyrics aren't in English. And still, Tim's singing along fluently. Conner's amused by this as he jogs across the yard to the house. Wondering just how often Tim listens to his songs, Conner enters and Krypto wags his tail.

The Boy Wonder never brings music to the Tower and Batman probably doesn't approve of iPods during patrol. That leaves school and the time between and...

When _does_ Tim have time off for anything?

"Apparently this long weekend," Conner says to Krypto, aware that the dog probably thinks his own thoughts when Conner's air guitaring in the "privacy" of his barn (which he only does when he's positive that Clark or Kara's not around). He gives Krypto a scrutinizing look before deciding that he should probably shut off his own ears.

This could constitute as spying on Tim, though it's also _Tim_. Tim knows what Conner's powers are capable of and may have already assumed that he would be within earshot of the Kent farm.

Or, Tim expects Conner to be dead-weight in bed for his arrival. Or...Tim doesn't care.

And the same doubt from the night before tells Conner that Tim may have forgotten and will burn red at the mention of his off-key renditions of his secret songs. All that good feeling brought to a complete and sudden halt.

Much like the car, if the gravelly squeal of tires means anything.

Krypto's head pops up too at the sound and Conner grows tense, listening hard once more. And this time he can pick up the pace of Tim's heart-rate and listens to the other exhale while the music plays loud enough to challenge the super-hearing.

Con's not sure if Tim murmurs to himself an, "okay," and then a, "get off the road you."

There isn't a blare of the horn, but the car starts to roll forward once more. A deer, Conner guesses? He's not skilled enough to make out the movement of any specific animal, particularly in that area.

A moment later, Tim's changing the song and tapping on the steering wheel. Conner relaxes and puts on the coffee.

"Down," he says to Krypto, as if it's the dog that needs to stop listening with invested interest or concern. And yet Conner's aware that he couldn't redirect his hearing now even if he wanted to.

There is toast and eggs to take up his time as the steady pace of the car and run of the CD grows closer. Conner can't hear the sparrows anymore, and even ignores Krypto's whine to go outside.

The dog trying to tear down the door _does_ get heard.

Breakfast is ready by the time Krypto starts barking at the approaching car. Conner hopes Krypto remembers his training to stay grounded, but with Tim as the guest it probably doesn't really matter. He himself is on the porch by the time the car comes to a warm stop.

"I didn't think you'd be driving," Conner greets, having rehearsed what to say for the past five minutes.

Tim pulls himself from the car and gives his friend a grin before leaning back into the seat to reach for the overnight bag that he's brought. Conner tosses up a barrier around the other as Krypto tries to give his own excited welcome.

Balancing a tote-bag over a shoulder and a half-empty bottle of water, Tim chuckles at the dog and carefully reaches out to pat him. "Bats set me up with a rental in Metropolis. It's been awhile since I've driven outside of a city."

Conner frowns as he reaches out to pull Krypto back by hand. "That's four hours, and it's not even eight o'clock yet."

"I suppose I'm still on a night-schedule," Tim shrugs but his expression stays easy-going. "Here, I brought this along."

Conner catches the shining disc that Tim lazily tosses like a shuriken, trusting Conner not to let it bounce along the ground.

It floats, held by Conner's mind. The Boy of Steel identifies it immediately but asks, "what is it?"

"Music," Tim brushes past him. "I figure you could listen to something _good_ for a change. By the way," he points at the disc still hovering between them. "Looks like you've been practicing."

Krypto's beginning to drool on him, so Conner lets the canine go. He motions towards the farmhouse and hums, "something like that."

Across the CD's surface in efficient black marker is the label, _I Bet You're Listening_.

Loud and clear, Conner grins. Loud and clear.


End file.
